


Break Point

by aurumdalseni (kyo_chan)



Series: Break Point [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, FMA Fandom Challenge, Gen, I don't know how to tag some of this, angsty af?, but trying for a happy ending, disfiguration mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9152875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyo_chan/pseuds/aurumdalseni
Summary: Father isn't going to wait until Promised Day to gather his sacrifices. It is much more effective to have them all right where he wants them long before the final hour. The Homunculi will take no chances, they're playing for keeps. While four out of the five sacrifices are trapped beneath the streets of Central, those left above ground have to try and find both their missing loved ones and the reason for their disappearance before Promised Day arrives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my long overdue contribution to the FMA Fandom Challenge. And when I say challenge, boy was it ever. My artist, Blindroys, had the most incredible plot setup, and we both agreed we were ready to bring on the angst. I'll be the first to admit I wasn't initially prepared for this undertaking, but the story grew and grew, and now it has a life of its own. To make sure I don't keep anyone waiting any longer, I give you what is essentially the first arc. Credit for the story and any of the inspiration art go to Blindroys, and major props to [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai) for being my fantastic beta and sounding board!

The children of the fifth grade language class are abuzz with conversation when the teacher walks into the room. Her presence is meek and gentle, but her tone is stern as she tells the children to get to their seats and quiet down. She says it all in Drachman, and whether they understand all the words and syllables doesn’t matter, the message is very clear. Chairs scrape on the floor, little bodies settle down and notebooks flutter open.

She stands before them and switches back to Amestrian to say, “Good morning, everyone. Today, we are discussing pets. You will tell your classmates all about your pets, and if you don’t have any, I would like you to talk about your favorite family member. You will do it all in Drachman as best you can.”

One by one, students are called up, in alphabetical order by last name, since that’s always the most fair. That means that Selim Bradley is called up fourth after the exercise begins.

“ _ Do you have pets _ , Selim?”

“ _ Yes, teacher _ ,” he replies, clasping his hands behind his back. “ _ I have rats _ .”

The class erupts into quiet murmurs, some of the girls making nervous noises at the very idea of rats as pets. Even the teacher looks a little stunned, but she puts on her best instructor smile and motions for him to carry on.

“ _ They are very active and very smart. My father built them a really big maze so they won’t get bored. They are allowed to run around and we leave their food where they can find it and make sure they have toys and activities to keep them busy. They are interesting to observe _ .”

A moment of silence follows. Selim stands proudly before the class, having delivered every word in flawless Drachman. That was the point of the exercise, after all. It doesn’t matter if anyone liked it. When the teacher doesn't respond in a timely manner, he gives a respectful bow and heads back to his seat.

/

“Colonel.”

Mustang’s head snaps up out of reflex at the sound of the Fuhrer’s voice. He moves his hand just as quickly, raising in a sharp salute. He’s the only member of his team still in the office, finishing up a report due in the morning, and he thinks it’s awfully convenient he and Bradley are the only two in the room right now. Roy is thankful he’s learned to maintain such good control over his expressions.

“Sir,” he responds fluidly, “late evening for you?”

“And you, it seems.” Bradley's’ jovial smile does not give Roy the same warm and fuzzies it usually does for the Amestrian people. Maybe he’s just seen too many people die recently. “You’ll want to finish that report quickly, Colonel Mustang. You’ll be on leave for a while, and we wouldn’t want you to leave anything unfinished.”

“I--I beg your pardon, sir?” A slimy feeling slithers down to the depths of his guts, and his mouth feels tacky. “Is there an assignment I’ll be seeing to?”

“Of a sort. You will be accompanying me. You need to step away from all of this, what with that Maria Ross incident. I don’t feel you’ve had time to properly recover, especially after the tragic death of Brigadier General Hughes.”

Nothing like hitting everything right where it hurts. Roy straightens in his seat, taking a deep breath. “With all due respect, sir, I’m believe I’m in an acceptable state of mind to continue working. The focus keeps me--”

“I think you misunderstand, Mustang. This is not a request, it’s an order.” Bradley’s pleasant expression hasn't changed a bit. 

Roy gets to his feet. He doesn’t know what to say or what his plan is now, but he knows he can’t just quietly go to ground for any reason, not now. His goals are just starting along their path, even with the recent setbacks. He can’t imagine any sort of assignment that would take him away helping him. “I’m requesting an evaluation. It’s the fair way of assessing whether--”

“Sir, I believe he said it was an order.” 

Mustang freezes at the sound of Hawkeye’s voice, coming from somewhere beyond Bradley. His heart jumps into his throat. It’s a trap, his mind screams, they have his lieutenant compromised. His fear turns to rage as she steps into the room and Bradley shuts the door. From the hips down, she’s still clothed in her military uniform, the pants slung low on her hips, boots as shiny as ever. But her top half is bare, her arms crossed demurely over her chest in an attempt at modesty. Her hair is down to curtain her face, so Roy is unsure of the expression she’s wearing. He assumes the worst, of course, and his hands clench into fists. It takes every bit of his willpower not to set fire to the ruler of his country. 

“Fuhrer Bradley,” he grits out through clenched teeth. 

“Colonel, please,” Hawkeye pleads with a shake of her head, upsetting the fall of hair. 

Roy is shaking.

“Let me make myself abundantly clear, Colonel Mustang. This is not a request, and it is non-negotiable. If you find yourself willing to make an issue of what I am asking you to do, then let me just say that there is a lifetime of research I’m sure many alchemists in my employ would be all too excited to have. And your pet lieutenant is the key, is she not? Turn around, my dear.”

Hawkeye does as she’s told, presenting her back. The air freezes in Roy’s lungs, and he blinks furiously. Right before him is the culmination of Master Hawkeye’s work, but it’s missing the scars Roy is intimately familiar with. It’s as if it’s right after the Ishvalan War all over again, staring at Hawkeye’s back and listening to her demand that there never be another Flame Alchemist. He knows the smell of burning flesh, he knows the marks he left behind. How is this even possible?

“You should listen to him,  _ Roy _ ,” Hawkeye purrs, and once more the fright seizing his heart flip flops over to rage. There is a sinister edge to her voice, one he’s never heard before. What he’s seeing isn’t real. He knows it at the bottom of his heart, and he hopes to any power listening that the real Riza Hawkeye is safe.

“The real flame alchemy research is gone forever,” he says with certainty. “Whatever you’ve done to replicate it here is likely a farce. A blackmail ploy such as this will only work as long as it takes for the right alchemist to realize they’ve been duped.”

A low laugh starts in “Hawkeye’s” chest and bubbles up until it’s an outright cackle, her arms outspread and her head thrown back. It’s eerie, the way her head turns to look at him, eyes a bright violet instead of whiskey gold. “Is that right? Why don’t you come take a closer look, Colonel. I’m sure you’ll find this is no farce, and I would like to see you choke on your words.”

Roy shoves his chair back and comes around from his desk, fairly stalking his way over to where she stands with Bradley, who is patiently watching the scene unfold, his features unchanging, still with that damnable patronly smile on his face. Roy's fingers itch in his gloves; he’s trapped, but he steps closer, starting to dissect the array he knows by heart. With every section he decodes correctly, his face falls further, and his bravado melts away. 

“What’s wrong? Where’s your fight?” she crows. “Don’t you see a mistake? Did I get it wrong?”

“How did-- what are you?” Roy whispers.

“Hawkeye” pivots on her heel, and he’s ashamed that he jumps at the sudden movement. The spin of hair goes from blonde to black, her face twisting into something more angular, and her body shifts out of curves and into slender androgyny. Roy reels back, as if coming into contact with the creature that is not Hawkeye will burn him. 

As it is, the words that pour from its mouth like acid do enough of that on their own. Roy’s horrified. “You will  _ never  _ find a mistake. Our father  _ created  _ alchemy, Roy Mustang! Even if you scarred her, you  _ ruined _ her, he will know what you’ve tried to hide. We will know your greatest weakness. You’re lucky we didn’t bring her with as real bait, but perhaps you’ve found this to be a convincing enough influence to listen to what your  _ leader _ is telling you! Your time is up, Mustang, so--”

“That will do, Envy,” Bradley says conversationally, reaching out to put a hand on the creature’s shoulder, stopping their tirade. “Now, Colonel, if you’ll have a seat at your desk, I would like you to compose a letter to your unit.”

Roy’s feet take him back to the desk as if he’s on strings, numb and shaken, but when his back is turned, they can’t see the way his eyes are filled with hatred and rage. The line of his shoulders probably gives it away anyhow, but he doesn’t care. He composes himself as he sits back in his chair and draws his stationery out from a desk drawer. 

“The events of the last couple of months have taken their toll on you. Finding Brigadier General Hughes’s killer and dispatching her has wearied you. You are taking a leave of absence which I, of course, have already approved. You will apologize, tell them you’ll see them again soon and sign it. If you deviate from this format, I will ensure your disappearance is much more detrimental than this. I would like to keep things quiet until the time is right, you see. Once you are done, we will escort you to your...retreat.”

Roy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and starts to write.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Al are reunited in Central after Ed returns from Xing, only to find out that people have started to disappear. Two of the five sacrifices find themselves at the mercy of Father's hospitality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is chapter two and my desperate hope I can keep up with a regular posting schedule. Please enjoy!
> 
> Come chat with me on [tumblr](aurumdalseni.tumblr.com)!

“He’s what?”

Ed stares slack-jawed at Hawkeye, uncomprehending what she is telling him. The others in the office are silent, pointedly not looking at him or Al. He knows this isn’t the kind of prank Hawkeye would even consider pulling on him, and the sobering quiet of the room and permeable guilt tells him there is more to the situation than he is being told. He hates being kept in the dark.

“The colonel is--”

“No, I heard you fine. Took a leave, he’s sorry for the short notice.” Ed sweeps a hand through his bangs, looking over at Al helplessly. He wants to turn the grim news into some kind of excuse to mock his nemesis, but the twisting in his gut won’t let him. Though he’d admit it to no one, he has the collywobbles, a sick feeling hearkening back to a doomed night and a taboo drawn in chalk on the floor of his childhood home. Ed swallows around a lump in his throat, thinking on the best way to move forward. “I think we’re--”

_ Brrriiiiiing~ _

Ed jumps, and he hopes no one noticed. Al probably did, but he doesn’t count.

“Colonel Mustang’s office,” Fuery answers with half-forced courtesy. He listens with a frown. Ed doesn’t like being the one Fuery makes eye contact with when he says, “Hold the line, I’ll see if he’s available.” He tucks the receiver into his shoulder.

Ed licks his lips and waits until the receive is safely tucked against Fuery’s shoulder before he replies, “Nobody’s home.” 

“The caller is Sig Curtis, Ed. He says it’s urgent.”

Ed’s insides flip, and, for a moment, he stands rooted to the floor. Al has to reach out and push a hand between his shoulder blades to get him moving. As he takes the tentative steps forward to snatch the phone from Fuery, his mind presents him with too many unwelcome ideas about what the call could be about. Most of them involve blood and alchemy.

“Sig.” He doesn’t bother with formalities.

“She’s gone, Ed. Someone took her.”

/

She tries alchemy first. It has always been her best and only ally, even after all she’d been through. Izumi Curtis can’t imagine a material she is unable to transmute. She hopes the first rebound is just a coincidence, a mistaken calculation of the materials that left her head spinning and hands tingling. Stubbornly, she tries again, and when she returns to consciousness hours later, she sits at the center of her cell in angry contemplation. Instead of focusing on how to get out, she attempts to remember how she had gotten there in the first place. 

Izumi had put up a damn good fight. There were only two of them, but she is willing to bet the butcher shop they weren’t human. Trying to keep herself from being overtaken had been the experience of nightmares. Terrors that smiled like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, but tore up the ground with their bare hands and switched faces in the blink of an eye.

Why?

Izumi looks around the tiny space again, as if the bare walls might offer her some sort of answer. They aren’t talking.

“You’re one of those sharp humans aren’t you,  _ Teacher _ ?”

Izumi frowns. The voice belongs to one of the monsters who brought her here. She doesn’t answer, scowling at the title. Last time she’d heard it, it had been Ed’s voice, but one look at him had told her something wasn’t right. That was when the creature shifted right before her the first time.

“First, you see through the disguise, and then you give up using your alchemy after only two tries.” A mock-impressed whistle. “I’m surprised. The other human down here practically burned himself alive before he stopped using his alchemy to escape.”

“What do you want?” she asks, deadpan.

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you, but good try.”

“You’re here to gloat then, are you?”

A soft chuckle sends a chill down her spine, and she clenches her fists reflexively. “I could gloat. I feel like we’ve already won, but there are still moves to be made, and we have yet to complete our collection. Don’t worry, I’m here for a much simpler reason.”

Again, Izumi remains quiet. She is in no mood for games.

The door to her cell creaks open slowly, metal dragging on stone. Dim light pours in through the open space, but she sees no one on the other side of it. Her posture shifts, ready for a fight if the need arises. Nothing comes inside.

“You humans never look for the obvious answer. The door has been unlocked the entire time.”

Izumi springs to her feet and inches towards the open door, expecting for it to be shut again at any moment and the games to continue. But when she gets there and peers out, all that greets her is a narrow stone hallway lit by dirty bulbs screwed into the ceiling. There isn’t even a retreating back for her to chase, demand to know what is going on and why she has been brought here. It is clear she has a choice. Glancing one more time at the cell that offers her nothing but darkness and solitude, Izumi takes a step out into the hallway. 

Another game has begun.

/

Roy Mustang understands now. He peels his gloves off and lays them on an unscorched part of the cell floor. Thanks to his own flames, the temperature inside his cell is almost unbearable. The concrete walls bear evidence of the fire, but have not suffered any ill effects. It is probably just as well; the last thing he needs is for the the walls to come crashing down on him. Still, he’d been unable to resist trying. And now he knows that his gloves hadn’t been taken because they aren’t perceived to be a threat. He could set fire to these walls for hours and only succeed in burning himself. He draws a hand over his sweaty face, feeling his bangs drip, the shirt under his uniform jacket sticking to his shoulders.

His only light comes from three tiny slats in the door he’d been pushed through, and he focuses on that, trying to come down from the adrenaline of his alchemy. He fights with his own intense desire to keep setting fire to the walls, as if that would somehow be his escape. What a fool he was to even try.

He’s considering shrugging out of his jacket, when he hears footsteps approach outside the door. He’s lost track of how long he’s been down here, but it can’t have been so long that they are back already. Still, he slowly moves to his feet, despite how futile it’s proven so far. Someone tries the handle and the door creaks and groans open. He holds his breath.

A soft gasp greets him first, a woman’s head poking inside, her face drawn and fierce, surprised. “You’re using alchemy here.”

“Who are you?” he asks, sounding more tired than he means too, the fight drained out of him for the time being.

“Just a housewife.” The reply sounds like reflex, and he doesn’t doubt it is. “You can call me Izumi.” 

“They’ve trapped you down here, too?” he asks, and he’s still puzzling at how she just up and walked through his cell door. Had it even been locked to begin with? His head is reeling even more now.

Izumi nods. “I have yet to figure out why. The shifter wouldn’t tell me their plans for us.”

Roy’s eyes widen slightly. “So it changed forms for you, too.”

“Yes. I’ve been trying to figure out how that’s possible the entire time I’ve been down here. The only answer I’ve come up with is that it’s a homunculus. I used to think they were an alchemic taboo with no substance. After all, if you cannot create life through alchemy, you also should not be able to animate lifelike dolls. But Al was taken by one when they came here last, one named Greed. If there are more, then I suspect that the ‘Father’ they speak of is an extremely powerful alchemist who created them.” She seems to notice the way Roy is staring at her and flashes him a rueful smile. “Sorry, when you’re trapped alone, you have no choice but to think.”

Mustang glares balefully at the scorched walls around him. “Or have a tantrum,” he mutters under his breath. “Alchemy clearly isn’t the way we’re going to escape this. They mentioned ‘Father’ to me as well. Whoever or whatever it is has complete control over this place underground. We’re going to have to find a better way to do it.” 

Izumi comes to stand over him, offering her hand. “Well, get up, State Alchemist. You’re not going to find it if you’re sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Or having a temper tantrum,” she adds with grim amusement in her tone.

“Mustang.” Roy gets to his feet.

Izumi blinks. “Roy Mustang? Ed has had a lot to say about you.” She heads for the door she’s left open, clearly expecting him to follow.

He laughs; he can’t help himself. “Doubtless nothing good.”


End file.
